


They don't love you like I love you

by anita58straycat



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, captain america: the winter soldier - Fandom, captain america:the first avenger
Genre: Ficlet, M/M, StuckyWeek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-06
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-18 07:53:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1420414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anita58straycat/pseuds/anita58straycat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Steve”. Bucky’s not one for faith, he usually leaves that to Steve and hopes his good heart will be enough for the both of them. But when he says Steve’s name, a warm exhale, barely a whisper, it feels like prayer on his lips.</p>
<p>Written for Stuckyweek</p>
            </blockquote>





	They don't love you like I love you

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt was: The start of Bucky and Steve relationship – maybe first meeting? Or maybe first date? Or… any first one?

The first time Bucky sees Steve they are just kids. 

It is a sunny day in May, the year 1922, and Bucky is barely tall enough to push his little sister’s stroller. His mom has promised to accompany him to the playground to meet children his age and make some friends, and Bucky has been restless all morning waiting for this moment. 

When they get there, Bucky scans the area searching for kids to play with. There’s a group of children kicking a ball around, all older than him, and a couple of girls, building castles in the sandbox and giggling at the boys. 

And then he sees a child, sitting alone under an oak and drawing something on a scrapbook. He can’t be more than 4, and there’s something about the way his brow furrows with concentration that makes him look kind of cute. Not that Bucky would ever say that out loud. He makes his way there and sits right beside him. 

“What are you drawing?” he asks, curious, and the boy lifts his head, meeting his eyes for a second, before returning his gaze on the paper, blushing. 

“It’s a cat”, he replies, voice small. 

“It’s really good!”, Bucky says, encouragingly. 

The boy looks up at him again, then, and smiles with wide clear blue eyes, and Bucky feels suddenly very shy. 

“I’m Steve”, the boy tells him, “what’s your name?”. 

“James Buchanan Barnes”, he answers, his cheeks still pink. “But you can call me Bucky”, he continues, tone hopeful. 

Steve goes back to his drawing, then snatches it out of the scrapbook and hands it to him. 

“To Bucky, fro-from Steve”, Bucky reads, slowly. 

“You can keep it… If you like it”, Steve tells him, looking nervous again. 

Bucky doesn’t know what to say, so he just hugs him tight and then reverently folds the paper in three and puts it in his pocket. Steve beams at him and Bucky thinks he’s just found a friend. 

Years later, on an army vessel headed to the battlefields of Europe, he’ll look at that cat and little Steve’s uncertain hand and he’ll ache.

xxx

The first time Bucky kisses Steve they’re both drunk. 

It would not have happened otherwise. Bucky would never have taken the chance of risking his friendship with Steve, had he been in his right mind. But Steve had received a letter in the morning informing him his paintings were going to be exposed in an art gallery downtown and that certainly called for celebration. 

They’re at Bucky’s place, cushions and blankets scattered on the floor, a bottle of whisky almost empty and two pizza boxes from the Italian restaurant just around the corner. 

Steve’s falling asleep, leaning his head heavily on Bucky’s shoulder, while Bucky whispers in his ear about what a great painter Steve’s going to become, how museums and galleries all over the world will show his works and dames will have to get in line just to get a chance at dancing with him. 

Secretly, he thinks how much he’d love to be the one to dance with him. He staggers to his feet and makes a beeline to the gramophone, then turns and reaches out a hand to Steve. 

“Come on, punk. Dance with him”. 

Steve opens his eyes and gives a noncommittal grunt of disapproval. “We’ll wake the neighbors”, he says, grudgingly. 

“Who cares? I have to teach you, or you’ll scare all the dames off by stepping on their toes”. 

“Fine”, Steve blurts out and stands up on uncertain feet, so that Bucky has to circle an arm around his waist to prevent his fall. “Jerk”, he adds after a bit, but it’s mostly for appearances’ sake. 

They start swaying, slowly, and it’s warm and nice and if this is all Bucky will get, then it’ll be enough. To have Steve’s body pressed tight against his, his head on his shoulder and music playing in the background, is something Bucky’s allowed himself to envision only in the darkest hours of the night, when the line between reality and sleep doesn’t leave space to regrets and hopeless fantasies are but misty dreams. But then Steve looks up at him, his lashes impossibly long, a faint blush painting his cheeks, and Bucky wants. He licks his lips and Steve’s stare doesn’t go unnoticed. 

Alcohol gives him bravery, enough that he starts trailing feathery kisses all over Steve’s face. His temple, hi brow, the corner of his eyes, the tip of his nose. And the thing is, Steve lets him. He makes a contented noise and inches even closer, fingers scraping the base of Bucky’s neck and sending shivers down his spine. 

“Steve”. Bucky’s not one for faith, he usually leaves that to Steve and hopes his good heart will be enough for the both of them. But when he says Steve’s name, a warm exhale, barely a whisper, it feels like prayer on his lips. 

Their eyes meet and it’s the most natural thing in the world to just lean in and kiss him. Steve’s mouth is soft and pliant and Bucky loses himself in the bitter sweet taste left by the alcohol and in the warmth of their embrace. 

And as he sinks to the floor, on the cushions and in Steve, music forgotten and their heavy pants and breathy moans the only sounds roaring in Bucky’s ears, he thinks that not even heaven knows such bliss. 

They never speak of it again. Steve will try to, but he’ll give up in the face of Bucky’s cowardice. Bucky will hate himself for his weakness, but in the end he’ll tell himself that Steve has always been the braver one, that he deserves better than him. He’ll know this to be true and he’ll accept it. He’ll reach across the bed at night. He’ll find it cold and empty. 

Steve’s exhibit will be a success. Bucky will be there, of course. His heart will swell with pride and joy, until he’ll reach the last painting. The figures won’t be recognizable, broad brush strokes and sinuous lines, body entwined like vines. Flowing. Almost… almost dancing. And Bucky’ll know it’s them, that night, and tears will stream down his cheeks.

xxx

The first time Bucky tells Steve he loves him is also the last. 

They’re in a bar in London and Steve has now a body to match his heart. He longs for the scrawny kid he left in Brooklyn, though, with ideals too big and eyes so, so bright. Bucky knows he will lose him. Not to the war, but to a world who’ll finally see him for the hero he’s always been. 

He fights with the righteous fury of an avenging angel on the battlefield as he did in back alleys at home. Soon Steve won’t need him anymore. And Bucky can’t help it, but he mourns that kid who needed his help during fights and whom he patched up afterwards. He’s jealous of all the people that take up Steve’s time and attention, now. It’s petty and childish, but Bucky can’t help himself. 

Steve’s smile is still shy and dimpled. And he’s kind and brave and fierce. So when Steve asks him to follow Captain America, with an expression so open and expectant, Bucky takes the chance to make amends for his past mistake. He pours all his devotion and affection and faith into his words and hopes Steve will understand the meaning behind them. But Steve has known him his all life, knows him better than Bucky knows himself. 

He takes a deep breath and tells Steve that he loves him.

“That little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb not to run away from a fight. I’m following him”.

**Author's Note:**

> Crossposted on tumblr [here](http://koryuoftheriverflow.tumblr.com/post/81817391929/stucky-week-day-1)


End file.
